Safety Pin
by FloatingCloudBadger
Summary: Susan knows she's pathetic, not wanting to break the skin - and maybe it's for that reason that she doesn't want to tell.  I'm going to put a trigger warning here for self harm.


**A/N – Even though there's a warning in the summary, I just want to warn people again, this is probably going to be quite triggering for some people. I really don't want anyone to get hurt from this.**

She never lets that safety pin break her skin.

Sometimes she wants to – she feels like a failure because she can't even do _this_ properly – but she never lets it, and the closest she gets is a scratch that lasts an hour or so.

She doesn't have to worry about people seeing the scratches, because, while she's sure that they do see, no one ever looks twice. They're only little scratches – and even if they were larger, even if someone saw the frantic red mess on her shoulder, carefully hidden by her school blouse – well, who's to say that they would care?

The scratches – those scratches – she's done them in Potions class before. Not using her usual instrument, the safety pin she carries in her pocket – no, for this she is more subtle, and she uses a sharp bit on her quill, and tries not to react to the pain.

Professor Snape doesn't notice, and neither do any of her classmates, even Hannah and Leanne beside her. She can't blame them, though – because she's careful. She doesn't make it obvious, because she doesn't want them to know.

Or… or does she? Maybe this whole thing is just one big attention seek – maybe she just wants everyone to feel sorry for her, what with all the insane stuff going on all around them – maybe she wants them to notice her, when she doesn't deserve it. After all, those scratches, they're only on her thumb…

She's sitting, thinking about this, her chest tightening as she realises that she needs to hurt herself, in Transfiguration one day. She doesn't want to use her quill, again – she doesn't want there to be even the slightest possibility that she could be attention seeking. She wants to prove it, she wants to prove the pain – and so she shakily gets up from her quiet work and approaches Professor McGonagall's desk.

"Yes, Miss Bones?" says Professor McGonagall, looking up at her from behind those spectacles.

Susan meets her eye steadily. "Could I please go to the toilet, Professor?" she asks politely, quietly, her heart thumping.

Professor McGonagall looks at her, slightly surprised, for a second, but then she nods and looks back down at her work. Susan mumbles some kind of thanks at her and quickly leaves the classroom, her arms folded defensively.

She enters the nearest bathroom, and locks herself into the end cubicle, like she always does. Then she's fumbling in her pocket, looking for the pin, for a second – and then she finds it, and she's safe.

Unhooking the catch, she pauses a second, but then starts to scratch herself. It's a tally – she's aware it's a tally – and she gives a rough scratch along her thumb for each thing in her life that's bad. It doesn't take much, and the ideas are soon flowing out of her – some old ones and some new – and she's making a careful note of them. It's hurting, but it's careful and _Susan's in control._

She's trembling by the time she leans back against the cubicle wall, crying without tears and shakily putting the safety pin back. There's only a small stinging on her thumb, and on her left shoulder – and if she were to do it properly, it would hurt a lot more. Once again, she feels a wave of guilt pass over her, and moves to leave the cubicle.

It's as she's doing this that she feels a hand on each shoulder.

No, that's not right – she doesn't feel it, exactly – she's just aware that they're there. It's no surprise, and, actually, Susan's slightly surprised that Katie and Michael haven't made their presence felt sooner.

Katie and Michael are her best friends in the whole world, and she needs them more than anything. They are her family – her real family – and they help her get through this. She loves them more than anything, and she's so glad of them. Certainly, there's always that little nagging voice in the corner of her mind that tells her that they aren't real, that they're not there – but Susan knows they are. She knows, she knows, she knows…

She swallows, pausing, absorbing their presence. Katie speaks, then - _you promised me you'd try to stop_ – and you hang your head in shame, walking slowly so that the two of them can follow you.

"I tried," whispers Susan, barely audible. "I'm sorry."

_I know, my love,_ says Katie into her ear. _And I'm proud of you for trying. You're nearly there, and you're nearly safe. I promise you, my love._

Yes, agrees Michael, more serious than she's heard him before. You're really getting there, Susie. It's been ages.

She hangs her head in shame even so, biting her lip hard as she runs her hand under the cooling cold tap, and then reaches for tissue to dab her sore hand dry. She can still feel the two of them with their presence near her – and she's so glad of it.

They're such a help; not only with these moments, these moments of weakness; but with her day-to-day life. Katie chats to her, all the time – and they share so much – and they talk about boys, and Susan's hair. Katie's her companion, and she's the best companion that Susan's ever had.

And Michael – her silly Michael, her brother – he makes her laugh, whether it's bickering with Katie, or doing that impression of Professor Snape that always makes her giggle. They're her family, and she's proud of them.

Of course, she's forgetting the slightly more absent, but still brilliant, head of their family – Father. Susan has a dad at home, certainly – but Father is more than a dad. He's a father. He protects her, and he cares for her, and he loves her more than anything.

**I tried,** she hears him say behind her. **I tried to help you, Susan, my child. **

"I know," breathes Susan, dawdling along the corridor now. "I know, Father. You did help. I would have been much worse had you let me leave earlier."

For Susan knows that the reason McGonagall gave such a long lecture today, the kind that Susan wouldn't be permitted to leave during, was because of Father's help. He can't help her forever, though – and Susan has to start getting better.

She holds her head high as she walks down the corridor, her mouth tracing the outline of the words that she's saying to the three of them, not caring who sees her. No one tends to notice her little chats seemingly with herself, in any case – the most she has had is a cold sneer from Professor Snape when he saw her mouth moving.

She doesn't mind. It's nice to have these three special people, all to herself, all her own – and she's glad of help. After all, she isn't getting any elsewhere, and she needs some help. She knows that's why Katie and Michael and Father have been sent to her.

Katie came first. Susan was walking down to breakfast one morning, late, feeling just so tired – and suddenly a voice had come into her head. Katie's voice.

About a month passed.

Then, she had been in Herbology one day, and Katie had been trying to help her, but Professor Sprout had been talking about _family_ – and Susan had wanted a real family – and that had been when Michael, and Father had appeared, and completed the family. She may not be able to see them, but she knows they're there, and that's enough.

Susan re-enters the Transfiguration classroom quietly, making eye contact with no one, Katie and Michael still supporting her from the back. She feels better, now, calmer – and though her heart aches and she just wants to tell someone, no matter how mocking they'll be about how little she hurts herself – but she doesn't need to, she's reminded, as Katie and Michael continue to hug her from behind.

She doesn't need to in the slightest.

**A/N – I'm a bit nervous about putting this on, for various reasons. Not being a review-whore, but I'd really welcome some feedback. This is a bit… I don't really know how to put it. I'm going to stop now.**


End file.
